The Children's Prison
by kaini-industries
Summary: "Little boy, get away while you can. This is our secret hideout... the children's prison." In other words, Wolfram & Hart shows how to break down a man, a vampire and a father. Future AU after halfway season three.
1. The Children's Prison

**THE CHILDREN'S PRISON  
**by Sky

**Summary:** _This is our secret hideout... this is our prison._  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Word count: **18 000+  
**Notes: **Gen. The story premise is based on an AU version of season three. (And just assume Holland is eternal...)

* * *

THE CHILDREN'S PRISON

* * *

xixixix

_Prologue - Los Angeles, 2006_

xixixix

A man in a black suit descended the monument stairs.

He was moving in shadows; a smooth and lethal predator approaching its prey. Wesley could only see a vague form of an intent face from where he was sitting, but of course he would never fail to recognize the familiar profile. At the foot of the stairs, Wesley spotted five - no, seven - people standing around, engaged in heated negotiations. Although, he supposed only two of those were actually people.

Wesley gripped the steering wheel, its smooth leather sticking to his sweaty hands. Cordelia leaned her head back, further away from the window on the passenger's side.

"Do you think he'll see us?"

"No, I wouldn't think so, not from this distance." Wesley watched as the dark figure stealthily advanced on the group arguing by the monument entrance. They seemed oblivious to his presence.

"He seems to have other things in mind," Wesley said tightly.

Then the vampire made his first move; a stab, a snap of a neck and a swish of a sword and already four out of seven were down. One more made a desperate attempt to escape, but faced a painful end as the sword cleanly sliced off its head.

The two people left standing didn't seem affected by the impromptu massacre. One of them flipped a cell phone open and started talking rapidly. The other one summoned the assassin over to him and then waved his hand towards Wesley and Cordelia's direction.

Suddenly their car was filled with light.

Heart pounding in his chest, Wesley turned around and realized the light came from a car that had been parked behind theirs. The car's parking lights were now switched on. Wesley expected the car to start moving and pick up the three people waiting on the other side of the street, but it didn't. Instead the two lawyers and the vampire were now moving towards them.

"Wesley, I told you we should have left already!" Cordelia snapped. "Now they're definitely going to see us." She tried to slide down her seat as low as she could get, but it didn't make much difference. They were both clearly visible from outside the car.

"Perhaps they won't notice us, they seem quite occupied," Wesley said, and turned to her, annoyed. "Besides you were the one who wanted to -"

"Okay, we'll argue about whose fault it is later, although I'm so gonna win _that_ round, but right now, let's just go already!"

Wesley put his hand on the ignition key, but didn't have a chance to turn it, before hearing Cordelia's alarmed voice.

"Wesley..."

Dreading what he would see he raised his head to look over Cordelia's frozen form, through the passenger side window.

_He_ was staring at them.

The street was dark, but the car lights from behind clearly illuminated the impassive face of the dark figure looking straight at Wesley and Cordelia. He was standing still, while the lawyers continued their approach towards the other car.

Wesley was certain the connection lasted only for a few seconds at most, but it was enough. Their eyes locked, acknowledging each other. He hadn't seen those eyes looking at him for - how long was it now? Two, almost three years?

And then the moment passed.

A sharp slam of car doors closing echoed across the quiet street. The lawyers had reached their car and climbed in. Just seconds later the vampire joined them. Car lights streaked by the passenger window, briefly highlighting Cordelia's stricken profile, and then they were gone.

Cordelia and Wesley were quiet for a long time.

Then -

"We were right."

"Yeah, we were _so _right," Cordelia agreed. "And that's even worse, isn't it?"

"Yes, I suppose it is."

"Ugh!" Cordelia flung her hands, exasperated. "Why couldn't he be Angelus! At least that would make more sense - no, wait, it wouldn't, because why would Angelus work for Wolfram & Hart? Not really his scene, you know. But then again, why would _anyone_ work for Wolfram & Hart - least of all Angel. It just doesn't make any sense."

Cordelia was shaking next to him; out of fear, anger or grief, Wesley wasn't sure. In this situation, any one of them was a safe bet.

"Well, no matter, this doesn't change anything. He has done what he has done, soul or no soul."

"What do you mean it doesn't change anything?" Cordelia snapped at him. "If it's Angel, then that changes everything! Because, then - then that means it's _our_ Angel working for Wolfram & Hart. I mean, if it's Angelus being a major league villain that's one thing, but if it's Angel, then that's - it's different. It means he made a choice. He didn't lose his soul like they made us think he did..."

Cordelia drummed her fingers against the window, peering out into the dark street as if trying to re-vision the figure that had stood there mere moments ago.

"It's different, because now I need to know why."

"Cordelia, we both know -"

"Yeah, I know." Cordelia sighed. "But I just want to hear it from him."

Cordelia shook her head and took a deep shuddering breath. She leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes. "That's all I need from him anymore," she said quietly, almost to herself.

Wesley sat up straight, gathering his composure. He moved his hands on the steering wheel and winced as his sweaty skin stuck painfully to the leather upholstery. He thought for a moment asking Cordelia to call Gunn and meet back at the Hyperion, but thought better of it. Cordelia seemed like she needed some rest first.

And Wesley needed time to think.

He started the car and eased it off from the sidewalk and onto the main road. But he barely paid attention to his surroundings anymore.

One question circled relentlessly back and forth in his mind.

He just wanted to know why.

* * *

xixixix

_1. The Other Side of The Mirror_

xixixix

When Angel returned to his room, there was a glass of blood waiting on the table.

He stared at the finely carved crystal glass for a long moment, taking in the intoxicating scent and acknowledging the desire in all its forms, before firmly putting the glass back into the fridge - the blood in it still untouched.

He sat down heavily in front of the dressing table and looked at the large ornamental mirror above it reflecting everything else in the room except him. His king-sized bed and the soft, luxurious covers carefully made (not by him); the dining room and its extravagant mahogany table set; and the windowless walls that were covered with real paintings that had texture and smell, not some cheap print-outs.

His apartment was a gorgeously calculated prison.

He heard steps approaching and then saw the door open in the mirror. Without turning he waited until Holland, Lilah and two guards he hadn't seen before entered the room.

As usual, Holland walked straight over to him, placing his hands on Angel's shoulders in a manner that spoke of familiarity and possessiveness. In the mirror, Holland's hands rested against air, but his eyes stared right at Angel's.

"Excellent work, Angel. You truly outdid yourself this time." Holland's placid smile widened as he turned Angel around to face him. "I believe a reward is in order."

Angel tried not to show his reaction too much, but it was hard to keep the desperate hope from showing on his face when he met Holland's eyes.

"I can see him now?"

"Yes, Angel. Yes, you can," Holland said.

Lilah cleared her throat. She was standing in front of the fridge, holding its door open to show several glasses of blood - all still full to the brim.

"Our blood not good enough for you anymore, Angel?" Lilah asked, quirking her eyebrow and smirking at him.

Holland's warm smile faded away into disappointment. "Angel, haven't we discussed this before. Are you insulting our hospitality again?"

Angel glared at Lilah. "I have told you that I don't drink human blood. Bring me animal blood next time and I'll drink all of it. But not this." He gestured at the contents of the fridge with his hand.

Holland pulled up a chair next to Angel's and sat down.

In a deliberately intimate gesture, Holland straightened Angel's shirt collar and placed his hands on Angel's shoulders again.

"See now, Angel. In your particular position, appearances are crucial. You have to look good and you have to look convincing," Holland said, and then added in a placating tone, "And of course, you were magnificent today. Ruthless, unstoppable - just the way you were meant to be."

He brushed away a few wrinkles from Angel's silk shirt. "But I couldn't help but notice that every time we meet, you're looking, well - _paler_, and less rested. Those dark shadows under your eyes, leave those for humans. You're a creature of the night, powerful and eternal. There is no room to show weaknesses."

"So, drink your blood. Do as you're told. Or your son will have a very unhappy ending indeed." Holland smiled at him brightly. "And no one wants that."

Angel could feel Lilah's smugness radiating from across the room. He ignored her. Instead, he concentrated all his powers of self-control to keep his voice even.

"All right, I'll drink the blood. But I can still see him. That was the deal."

Holland studied him; he was testing the limits of Angel's fraying nerves, baiting for a damning reaction. He wasn't going to get one.

"Yes, that was the deal." Holland got up, straightening his suit jacket. "Since you did so well today, you have earned your visitation rights. Two days, no more."

Angel closed his eyes, not wanting them to see the overwhelming relief he felt.

Before Holland exited the room, he turned to Angel one more time.

"Make sure the glass is empty next time. We will know."

Holland smiled, and left.

xixixix

Angel followed Lilah and the guards to the meeting quarters - their secret hideout. They had at least three different places they used for this purpose, all of which were identical as far as Angel could tell. Except for the location - and the smell.

And Angel never knew which one they were going to use. That was the point.

"Wait here," Lilah said. She left without bothering to check if he had obeyed her.

Angel would wait. He always did.

He stood in the main room of the quarters and watched as the door slid shut and was locked from the outside. He could hear the guards positioning themselves next to the door.

He looked around the familiar room. It was bland; the walls were unpainted concrete and bore no decorations. The only furniture in the main room was a double bed and a sizable wardrobe pushed against the far wall. It was a complete departure from his own luxurious apartment - but both were prisons all the same.

Angel sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. One corner of the woolen bed cover was beginning to unravel and he picked on the loose strings absently. He was feeling that same restless energy take over him, the one he always felt before seeing Connor.

It had been sixteen days now since the last time.

After a few minutes, the door opened again.

Lilah came in carrying a sleeping child in her arms. Angel stood up quickly, resisting the urge to tear Connor away from her faux-tender embrace.

She smirked at him. "Now, now, Angel. What's the magic word?"

"Please," he said tonelessly. There had been a time when he could barely keep the venom out of his voice when speaking to Lilah. He refused to give her that satisfaction anymore.

She handed Connor over to Angel, then proceeded to make a show of wiping her hands on her suit, face twisted in pure disgust.

"Enjoy your time with your kid, because after tomorrow, there's going to be a three week gap," Lilah said.

Angel cradled Connor against his chest, then realized he was holding the child too tightly again. He loosened his grip with a deep pang of guilt.

"What? I was told -"

"Well, we changed our minds," Lilah said, then snorted. "What? Are you surprised that the big bad law firm won't let you play with your kid whenever you want to? You know it doesn't work that way, so stop playing so naive."

With one last look of disdain, she left the room and the lock slid into place again.

Angel held on to Connor for a long moment, frozen in place.

It was only when Connor stirred in his arms and opened his eyes that he moved. Setting Connor down on the bed, he smiled at the boy. And then hated himself that the smile wasn't as genuine as he wanted it to be.

Connor yawned, stretching his arms.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, Connor, it's me. Did you have fun in the nursery?"

Connor nodded, eyes still barely open. "We did some pictures. Do you want to see?"

"Of course." Angel looked around the dishearteningly empty room. There was a box of toys in the corner, but he knew they were the same as always. Of course they wouldn't have brought any of Connor's drawings here. "But, I think they're still in the nursery. I'll see them later, okay?"

"Okay." Connor sat up and then suddenly his face broke into a wide smile. "Hey guess what, dad, I can do a cartwheel! Let me show you. It's a bit difficult, but I can do it," he said proudly.

"Go on," Angel said. He looked on as Connor bounced on the bed and then jumped on the floor, performing a perfect - albeit slightly lopsided - little cartwheel. Angel wondered once again whether Connor had inherited any of his or Darla's supernatural powers, and if he had, when would they start showing.

"That's great, Connor!" Angel praised him with a proud smile. Connor ran over to give him a quick hug, which lasted maybe for a fraction of a second, before he was on his feet again, heading for the toy box. There was no sign of the sleepy little four-year-old left anymore.

Once Connor's back was turned to him, Angel's smile quickly turned into a weary sigh.

He closed his eyes and used whatever meditation exercises he had learned over his lifetime to once again keep the overwhelming despair he felt under control. _This is what you have and it's more than you deserve,_ he thought,_ deal with it._

Then he looked at Connor, who was sitting in the corner, going through his beloved toy box. His small, soft face was marred with a child's heartbreaking naivety.

_And yet,_ he reminded himself, _it's less than what Connor deserves._

He sighed again and shook his head. He could never break down in front of Connor.

He shrugged off his suit jacket and set it neatly on the bed. He took a look at the wardrobe and was pleased to see that they had kept some of his and Connor's old clothes there. He changed to something more casual and went to the kitchen.

Upon opening the fridge his heart sank.

It was empty.

He looked around the kitchen some more, opening cupboards and pantries, but found no food whatsoever. The only thing Connor could have was water from the tap.

Angel stood at the kitchen entrance, trying to gather his thoughts.

Connor was still going through his toy box, spreading out the toys on the floor. He inspected some of them as if he was seeing them for the first time and quickly discarded others as if they weren't even worth his consideration. Finally, he settled on a select few, ran to the kitchen carrying them and set a line of assorted toys on top of the dining table.

"This is my group. I named this one the leader, but he didn't get along with the others so well. And this one can't bend any part of his body, so he's useless," Connor explained earnestly, and discarded a very awkward looking yellow toy that looked like some kind of a giraffe with long ears.

Then Connor held out a plastic toy that seemed suspiciously like a cross between a rhinoceros and a dragon._ 'Venelak demon_' Angel's mind supplied automatically, although he wasn't sure why anyone would want to make a toy version of a Venelak. They tended to be particularly grotesque.

To be honest, he had never understood Connor's toys.

Holding the Venelak toy, Connor announced, "This is the new leader. And oh no! We're being chased! Quick, we'll escape over this _caaa -ny - oon_." Connor took all the toys in his arms and jumped them from the dining table to the kitchen counter. Then he piled them up next to the chrome toaster - or the space ship, as Connor called it.

"Whew, we made it!" He looked up at Angel and smiled with profound relief. "Now we're safe." Then he spotted the menacing water kettle lurking in the corner and an intent expression took place on his face. "But wait, there's another enemy..."

Angel followed his playing silently; a dark, sinking feeling spreading inside of him. He couldn't even muster up his usual affection and amusement at Connor's imaginative journeys.

He returned to the main room, looking up at the ceiling.

"What is the plan now? To starve him?" He called out, anger shaking his voice.

He had located the surveillance camera a while ago. He had always known that they had at least one in the room - how could they not - but one night he had actually managed to hear its soft, electronic humming behind the ceiling boards.

He stared at the camera, daring someone to come and check on him, but he doubted the effectiveness of that.

Connor had stopped playing and was watching him from the kitchen.

"Dad?"

"Just a moment, Connor."

He went to the intercom next to the door and pressed it, knowing the guards outside would hear him.

"Get me Lilah Morgan. Now."

He didn't wait for their answer. Lilah would come.

xixixix

Lilah sauntered to their quarters two hours later.

"You rang?" A wide smirk was plastered on her face.

Angel stopped his pacing on the floor to glare at Lilah. He had to force himself not to simply grab her by the throat and slam her against the wall.

"Is this your doing? Are you trying to starve us now?"

"Well, one of you certainly wouldn't be starving. Or is he too skinny for a snack?" Lilah nodded towards Connor, still playing in the kitchen.

"Don't even try," Angel growled. "What is this accomplishing, Lilah? There is no reason for you to withdraw food from Connor."

"There is one." She edged closer to him. "Just to see your reaction."

Angel barely held himself from hitting her. She must have seen the tense twitching in his arms, because she laughed.

"See?"

Angel forced himself to calm down. "I'm not going to play your games. There is no reason for Wolfram & Hart not to feed Connor. Something happens to him, my cooperation ends then and there."

Lilah gave a sigh of mock-defeat. "All right, but if you want me to bring him food, you have to pay. That's how we do business here at Wolfram & Hart. You have to be prepared to pay the price, which you should know better than anyone."

Angel looked over at Connor involuntarily.

"What do you want?"

"Well, I'd be pretty happy to settle this with our usual currency," Lilah said. She ran a hand down his neck and slid it inside his shirt to rest on his collarbone.

Angel closed his eyes and sighed. "Fine. After I get back to my apartment."

"Now."

His eyes flung open. "You've gotta to be kidding me."

"Does it look like I'm kidding? I'm a busy woman, I have a tight schedule. But since I came all the way here, just for you, might as well spare another hour."

"No."

"What? You're too ashamed to do it in front of the kid?"

"Leave Connor out of this. I'm not going to have sex with you here."

Lilah quirked her eyebrow. "You sure about that? Because Connor is sure starting to look a bit hungry to me. God, isn't that cruel? A little child without food for two whole days... You know, you could lock him in the bathroom, if you don't want him to see."

Angel grabbed Lilah's hand from inside his shirt and held it in a tight grip. He turned his back to the kitchen, to Connor.

He leaned over to whisper in Lilah's ear, "You fuck with me again, Lilah, and I will kill you. Don't think the Senior Partners will keep you safe. They don't give a shit about their little lawyer puppets."

Lilah raised her eyebrow. "You use that kind of language in front of a four-year-old? My, Angel, I thought you were better than that."

Angel turned around to see Connor standing behind them, eyes wide and uncertain.

"Connor, go back to the kitchen. Daddy will be there soon."

Connor nodded, but didn't move anywhere.

Lilah's smirk widened. She pulled back her hand from Angel's loosened grip and straightened herself.

"Fine, I'll send you some food. But that's only because I'm starting to pity you. Don't think I won't be collecting my payment later. And now, where's my thank you?"

"Go to hell."

Lilah tutted, her lips pursed. "Well, that didn't sound like a thank you to me. I hope you're not teaching that attitude to your son."

Angel shuddered with barely suppressed rage. "Thank you."

"Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Lilah leaned closer again. "That's the whole point of this thing, isn't it, Angel? You play nice, because you have something to lose. And trust me, you *will* play nice, because there's a whole bunch of nasty perverts out there who would just love to get their hands on -"

"Shut up."

Lilah seemed delighted by his reaction. She turned to look at Connor and smiled.

"Your daddy is a very naughty man, Connor. Better be careful."

Connor's eyes flickered between them. The boy looked scared. _Of Lilah_, Angel thought at first, but then with an almost physical stab of pain he realized - _and of him_. He felt repulsed. The scent of Connor's fear suddenly seemed to fill the room.

"Lilah, get out. Now."

Lilah grinned at him.

"Too bad Lindsey isn't around anymore. I bet he would love to teach you some discipline."

And then she was gone, leaving Angel shaking with anger and guilt.

xixixix

The next night was restless.

Lilah had graciously waited for three hours before sending them food and even then it was barely enough to sustain a small child for two days.

Of course, she hadn't sent anything for Angel. But he was used to that by now. Yet another game Wolfram & Hart forced him to play.

And now he was suddenly glad he had taken that glass of human blood after all.

Angel changed Connor to his pajamas and tucked him into bed. The boy didn't seem that sleepy, but he had been quiet and distant for the rest of the evening, which did nothing to dissipate the guilt and worry Angel felt.

The incident with Lilah earlier had obviously upset Connor. Add to that the minimal dinner he had had and just their general disaster of a life and it was a wonder Connor was still functioning at all.

Angel lay down on the bed next to Connor, pulling the covers over them. The boy was breathing softly, but not evenly enough to be asleep yet. Angel tucked his arm under Connor's head.

"Hey, it's going to be okay. Soon you'll get back to the nursery. You like being there, right?"

Connor nodded, which Angel felt against his chest, but made no reply other than that.

"Connor? Everything all right?"

"I don't like that woman."

"Lilah?" Angel smiled sadly. "Yeah, I don't like her either."

Suddenly something seemed to break in Connor and he let out a loud sob. "I don't like this place."

Connor started crying, wailing really, and the sound was almost unbearably loud in the empty, echoing room. Angel cradled Connor against him and tried to make soothing noises, but his own chest felt like it was bursting as well. Pressure gathered behind his eyes and he had to close them.

Connor cried for a long time. Eventually his sobs quieted into hiccups until he drifted off to a troubled sleep. Angel stayed awake for a good few hours after Connor had fallen asleep.

The nights in these quarters had always bothered him. They must be deep inside the underground levels of Wolfram & Hart, because he couldn't locate any outside noises at all.

All there was to see here were their dark, barren rooms, with no windows and just a few essential pieces of furniture - so eerily reminiscent of a prison. The only bright colors in the room came from Connor's various toys strewn around the floor.

It was no place for a child.

He had never seen the nursery Connor spent most of his time in, but he could only hope that it was better than this. There had to be something better for Connor than this. He needed to believe that.

If he let misery take the best of him now, Connor would truly have no one.

One day this all must come to an end, he knew that. But right now, all he could do was to make sure that didn't entail the end of Connor as well.

Connor shifted closer to him, gracing him with the warmth he missed every time they were apart.

Shaking the gloomy thoughts away, he let Connor's calm breathing lull him to sleep.

* * *

xixixix

_2. The Second Decision_

xixixix

"Well, that was lame."

Lilah got up from the bed and reached for her bra.

She kept glancing surreptitiously over her shoulder at Angel, while putting on her clothes. He ignored her, preferring to look at the abstract painting on the opposing wall instead. He had stared at that painting many a times and it still managed to look like the artist had just given up and decided to shoot their brains all over the canvas. Knowing Wolfram & Hart, he wouldn't put it past them that that had actually happened.

He bet Lilah had chosen that particular painting for his rooms.

"If I'd known you'd be so mopey about the food thing, I wouldn't have even bothered. I thought you'd have even some pent-up aggression left in you." Lilah gave him a disappointed look and pulled on her skirt. "I guess not."

Angel continued his silence and Lilah turned to face him, obviously looking for any excuse to aggravate him.

"You know, if you're going to continue your moping, this is not going to be much fun. I might have to come up with something else." She tapped her lips with her finger in mock-concentration. "Hmm... There's this one guy in Files & Records who's been really pissing me off lately - and he wears a blond toupee. _A blond toupee_. Can you imagine that?"

She visibly shuddered at that.

"Anyway, I thought I could lock you up here for a couple of weeks without blood and then throw him in for the hell of it. See how long this _'I don't drink human blood'_ whiny bullshit of yours can really last."

That earned her a glare and she smirked, satisfied.

"Didn't you have a meeting to go to, Lilah."

"As a matter of fact, I do. This post-coital chit-chat is just bonus." She grinned.

Angel turned back to face the wall. It was far less irritating than Lilah on any given day.

"By the way, Holland wants to see you. Today."

"What a surprise."

"Sarcasm, cute." Lilah finished dressing. She took her high-heeled shoes and sat on the chair, slipping them on with a well-practiced air. "Considering how disappointed I'm in you, you should be humoring me. I might just tell Holland that we should make your next break four weeks instead of three. I mean, what's the difference anyway. Kid's not gonna grow up much in a month."

Angel sat up on the bed, livid. "Didn't I tell you to stop fucking with me."

Lilah scoffed. "Oh, I'm through with fucking you, thanks for that miserable performance. And as for Connor, what are you whining about? You're going to live forever, what's a few weeks here or there. You'll see him eventually."

"Yes, for one or two days every few weeks, at most. In the meanwhile, I have to jump through your hoops, play your games and no matter what I do, I'm only allowed access to my son at your convenience. Now why would that be getting to me, hmm?"

Lilah rolled her eyes. "Are you complaining that we're not playing fair? Because you're about, oh, seven years late on that realization."

"Get out."

She pouted at him, an expression which was entirely overshadowed by her overall smugness. "Those are your favorite words, aren't they? Don't worry, I'm leaving. I'm tired of looking at you. I'd rather jump into sack with bald blondie from Files & Records next time."

She walked to the door and blew him a kiss. "Too bad you couldn't lose that cloud of misery you've been hanging onto. We could've had fun."

"Out."

But before she was through the door, she reminded over her shoulder, "Oh, and don't forget that meeting with Holland."

"Did I ever have that choice..." Angel muttered, and went back to staring at the painting.

xixixix

Angel paced around his disgustingly luxurious living quarters, restless and sullen.

Holland had sent one of his mindless lackeys - accompanied by two burly guards - to deliver an 'important' message. The gist of it which had been, Holland had a job for him.

What else was new.

He had nearly thrown the quivering lackey out of his apartment in frustration.

He wondered if Lilah had gone through with her threat and further prolonged the time of separation between him and Connor. He wouldn't put it past her - hell, he wouldn't put anything past Wolfram & Hart anymore.

Angel paused in front of the dressing table and looked around his apartment. There were no windows, no clocks - nothing to indicate the time of day, but instinctively he knew it was early evening and the sun had set just a short while ago.

Holland's daily meetings should have been done by now. If he really was going to meet with Angel, this would be the time for him to show up.

And show up he did.

Quarter past seven, he arrived dressed in an impeccable suit and wearing a wide, placating business smile. He set his suitcase on the kitchen table and gestured for Angel to sit down.

They both took seats at the table and Holland pulled out a folder from his suitcase. He set it down on the table in front of Angel, then clasped his hands elegantly on his lap - waiting.

Angel stared at the name label on the folder.

The IWC.

He had known this day would come, he was just surprised it had taken this long. He almost started smiling - no, laughing - out of some paradoxical combination of aggravating stress and relief. At last, this was a line he could not cross.

He looked up at Holland, who was studying Angel's reaction carefully. The anticipation evident in his eyes.

"The IWC," Angel said. "So, you finally want me to kill my friends."

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Why else would you bring this to me?" Angel took the folder and started flipping through it. He saw familiar faces; some smiling, some serious, some labeled missing or dead.

"Well, I can't deny that The IWC wouldn't have been a thorn in our side for quite some while now. I believe they were even spotted during the monument trade a week ago. Apparently the intel had somehow leaked to them and they were planning on interrupting your little massacre," Holland said. He tilted his head in mock-curiosity. "You wouldn't have happened to know anything about that, would you?"

Angel met his eyes. "No."

Holland held his gaze for a moment, before another hollow smile appeared on his face. "Because if you had known about it and didn't tell us... Well, that wouldn't look very good on your record, would it now?"

"Did you have an actual job for me, Holland, or should we just call it a day?"

"I believe that isn't your decision to make, Angel," Holland said. "I hope I don't have to remind you of that fact again."

He gave Holland a grim look, but said nothing.

"Now, enough dawdling," Holland chuckled, Angel hated that sound. "I came here, because my department has noticed some unfortunate rumors starting to circulate within The IWC. It seems like they are not buying into your 'Angelus' persona anymore. It pains me to think all our hard work would start crumbling apart because of some silly rumors."

"So, what is it you want to me to do then?"

"We simply want you to give them a little demonstration. Something to wipe out those rumors once and for all."

Angel didn't like where this conversation was heading.

"A demonstration? Such as?"

Holland smiled and gestured at the folder. "Pick one of them, and then kill them. Torture them, maim them... whatever it is your devious imagination can come up with. But just make it - convincing. After that, there should be no doubt it is Angelus they are dealing with."

Angel stared at the folder. It was open at Cordelia's profile page, her smiling graduation picture printed in one corner. Why hadn't they used a new picture? She hadn't been a high school girl for years now.

And all those years he hadn't seen her...

"Angel? I'm waiting," Holland said. There was an unpleasant edge to his voice. He nodded at the picture Angel was looking at. "If killing her would be - difficult, for you, you are free to pick someone else. We realize we need to start out small here. Work our way up."

"I can't."

"That wasn't the answer I was looking for," Holland said. "In fact, that is not an acceptable answer."

Angel closed the folder and looked at Holland resolutely.

"And what will you do if I say no? Threaten Connor again? If something happened to him I would not spare a second in tearing this place down, and everyone in it."

Holland wasn't intimidated by Angel's glowering. "And would you be willing to take the risk that something_ might _happen to him? I don't think you would. But -" he said, before Angel had a chance to interrupt. "We realize how difficult a task this might be for you. That is why we would reward you for your successful completion of it accordingly."

"And how could you possibly reward me for killing one of my friends?"

"By giving you back your son."

Angel was quiet for a moment. And he hated himself for that. Hated himself for the fact that he couldn't come up with a straight up answer, because he saw Holland's expression growing more satisfied by every second of his prolonged silence.

After a while Holland continued, "Are you to succeed, and I'm sure you are, Connor can permanently come to live with you."

"I couldn't -"

"But you can," Holland said. "Isn't it about time that you can be reunited with your son? It must be extremely stressful for such a small child to be separated from his parent for long periods of time. No more brief supervised visits. You can see him at all times, watch him grow and teach him. Just the way you always wanted."

Holland placed his hand on the folder and pushed it back towards Angel. "All you need to do is complete this one task, one simple thing."

The price he - and someone else - would have to pay for that task...

It was impossible.

And he couldn't trust anything Wolfram & Hart told him.

But...

He hadn't felt such wild hope in such a long time, he felt nearly lightheaded from it. He couldn't help but think of Connor, crying desperately in his arms every time they parted.

He thought of the long nights spent worrying what Wolfram & Hart were doing to Connor. Whether he would even be alive the next time Angel got to see him.

And he remembered when Connor had just turned two and Holland had come into Angel's apartment, telling him with alarmingly genuine concern that Connor had gotten a high fever and had to be taken to the hospital. Angel's visit with Connor had been postponed and he was told to stay (or rather, be locked) in his apartment until further notice. The further notice - that Connor was going to be fine - had taken over two weeks to reach Angel. In the meanwhile, he had smashed nearly every breakable thing in his apartment out of sheer despair and helplessness.

It was impossible.

"I'll do it."

Holland smiled.

"As we expected you would. I'll let the research department know. They'll assist you in any way they can."

Angel stared at the folder. He couldn't believe he was going to do this.

"So, I can pick any one of them?"

"Yes, anyone will do," Holland confirmed. He appeared as self-satisfied as always. "We're not too picky about the details, as long as you make it look convincing. Remember, it has to be brutal, it has to be passionate. It has to be what Angelus would do."

"I understand."

"I know you do," Holland said. He stood up and patted Angel on the shoulder. "The firm trusts you, Angel. The Senior Partners have their utmost confidence that you will be successful in this final demonstration of loyalty to them."

Holland walked to the door and opened it.

"Because if you let us down..." Holland said, the smile gone for once. "Well, for the sake of your son, don't let us down."

xixixix

Angel had made his decision on the first day.

The following week he spent trying not to think about that decision.

However, that was proving to be difficult as the Files & Records department had unceremoniously dumped dozens of case files in his apartment; all details, documents and reports available on the activities and the personnel of The IWC.

The first few days he had tried to ignore them, because having to open the files reminded him that there was one more decision for him to make.

He had to pick a target.

He tried desperately to think of a way out of this whole mess. He knew Wolfram & Hart would let him go out unsupervised this time, so there was the possibility of trying to contact someone for help. But so far, all of his attempts at escape or outside contact had been ruthlessly thwarted by Wolfram & Hart. They seemed to know every move he made, and they rarely even let him go out of his apartment, at least not without someone constantly tagging him.

If he were to try to seek help from one of his friends - well, the consequences of that had been made clear to him during the first year. And he swore to himself he would never let Connor have to be punished for his weakness again.

He thought about framing someone's death - but he would most likely need their co-operation in that and he wasn't sure if he was going to get it, even if he tried. Besides, just planning to stage someone's death while stuck in his apartment was an exercise in futility. He would only have one night of freedom to complete the mission, and that didn't leave a lot of room for errors.

Whichever way he tried to think about it, he ran into a dead end.

Because in the past four years, if there was anything he had learned it was that Wolfram & Hart really did think of everything.

And Angel had something to lose if he failed, they didn't. He never fooled himself for a second that his services would have been as important to Wolfram & Hart as Connor was to him.

Left with little else to do, except to preoccupy himself with the mindless task of going through countless of technical reports, he sat down by the kitchen table and started going through the files. At first, he told himself he was going through them to find any information that might be useful for him, but he knew that was a lie.

Every time he flipped through the personnel files, he always ended up at the same two pages: Cordelia Chase and Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.

He had gotten quite good at trying not to think about them, since after all, he had considerable experience on how to deal with unwanted thoughts. For the past four years, he had spent most of his time worrying about Connor, and there was no room for anyone else. No room for regrets.

He found it somewhat comforting to think that, as far as he knew, his friends had assumed all blame of his actions on his soulless persona, however cruel a lie that might be. Wolfram & Hart's little facade for him really had been surprisingly resilient. He sometimes briefly wondered whether they had tried to unnecessarily re-ensoul him, like back in Sunnydale, but he couldn't be certain.

He had asked about that once from Holland. Holland had merely replied that if they did try to do that, they would have one hell of a task of finding any Thesulah orbs intact on this side of the Atlantis. He supposed that answered his question on some level.

Wolfram & Hart always thought of everything.

Thinking about his friends was dangerous. If he did, all the things that could have been would be rushing back to him and drown him - all those warm and hopeful things that had been lost under the weight of guilt and shame. He thought about Cordelia still suffering from the visions, and all of them still fighting the good fight no matter what, now with more resources than ever...

He looked at the young faces of Cordelia and Wesley, motionlessly staring back at him from the pages of the files and transforming into soundless accusations. Just like he had seen them stare at him on that dark street not so long ago.

He had already done so many unforgivable things in order to protect Connor.

Four years, and already so many new faceless victims - in addition to his old ones - who had died to keep his son alive. Sometimes he could barely even look at Connor after what he had done for the boy; those horrific crimes that were like untended wounds, bleeding him dry while he wasn't paying attention.

But he had always thought there was a line he could not cross - not even for Connor. Now, looking at their pictures, so much more distant than the memory of Connor crying in his arms...

Maybe he had been wrong.

xixixix

It was his last meeting with Connor before taking on the mission.

Once again, he had been restlessly counting the days to see Connor again. He had told Holland, in no uncertain terms, that he would want to see his son one last time before his impending task, and if Holland had deemed that suspicious, he hadn't at least said anything. Angel suspected Holland deemed everything he did as suspicious anyway.

And he really didn't give a damn what Holland thought of him.

He just needed this one last time to see Connor, because he didn't know how long it would be until the next time he could bring himself to face his son after this. But he wouldn't think about that right now.

And not here.

One of the nursery staff, a pale red-headed woman, brought Connor to the meeting quarters this time and Angel was glad for that. He didn't think he could have taken Lilah's mocking tone that day. He felt dirty enough as it was.

He took Connor in his arms and pressed a kiss on his forehead.

"Hey, kiddo, how are you?"

Connor giggled, he seemed to be in a good mood. Angel felt his own sour mood elevate in return.

He chuckled softly. "What's got you laughing?"

The nursemaid, nameless as they all were, handed him a paper bag.

"I brought in some of Connor's drawings and a few coloring pens. He really wanted you to see them."

Angel looked at her in surprise. It was strange that they had allowed anything of Connor's to be brought in - and just the fact that the nursemaid spoke to him directly was unusual.

He gave the woman a grateful smile and took the bag.

"Thank you. I truly appreciate this."

The woman simply nodded in acknowledgement at him. Angel had never seen her before and he doubted he would ever see her again, although there was something vaguely familiar about her. He wondered briefly how much Wolfram & Hart had told the nursery staff about Connor's situation and his true identity.

Before he had a chance to say anything else, the woman hurriedly left the room. The doors were locked again from the outside with a loud clank.

Connor was already pulling at the bag, trying to get it out of Angel's hold.

Angel handed it over to Connor and watched as he excitedly spread out the contents on the floor. Dozens of sheets of paper poured out and fluttered around the room like a colorful rain. Some of them were still white, but most were covered in bright saturated colors in every imaginable shade. Markers and crayons spilled out from the bag as well and rolled all over the floor.

Connor laughed, delighted at the resulting chaos.

Angel sat on the bed and watched as Connor proceeded to mess up the room even further.

"Connor?"

"Yeah?"

"Who was that woman who just brought you in? Do you know her name?"

Connor went through the crayons, carefully picking shades that appealed to him. "She's Julia, she plays with me sometimes, but she doesn't really know how to play well. She's always just talking to the other adults." Connor found a blue crayon and showed it to Angel. "This is my favorite color. Do you know why?"

"No, I don't."

"Because when we went to the gardens, I got to play with the other kids and we had this blue ice cream and it was soooo goood!" He turned to Angel excitedly. "Blue Moon Ice Cream!"

Blue ice cream? What on earth was that? But he just smiled and nodded, and Connor had quickly found a new topic to gush about.

"There were other kids my age and we played this game..." Connor ran to Angel, and shook his sleeve. "Dad, can I go and finish the game with them? I really want to play with them again!"

Angel looked down at him sadly. "I'm sure you'll be able to see them again, Connor, don't worry."

But Connor seemed troubled. "There's only adults in here. Always. There's never anyone to play with me."

Angel closed his eyes and sighed. What was he to say to that? He didn't have any control over who Wolfram & Hart let Connor meet.

"You'll have other kids to play with, Connor, I promise."

Maybe after he finished the mission and Connor got to move in with him, he would be allowed to make that happen. He just needed to see this through. He needed to be strong for Connor.

Connor stood lost in his thoughts for a second, before he returned back to his drawings. He lifted up a sheet of paper with something brown, purple and green drawn on it. It looked suspiciously like the Venelak demon to Angel again, but it was probably just his own imagination. Connor should never have to know what a Venelak was anyway.

He looked at the various messy scribbles on the papers. They seemed to mostly consist of people and landscapes with some animals thrown in. He noted to his vast relief that they didn't seem to contain any demons.

They were just normal colorful, messy doodles by an imaginative child.

Angel couldn't have loved them more.

Connor had taken out a few empty sheets of paper and started furiously drawing on them as he lay on the floor on his stomach. After a moment, he looked up to see Angel sitting idly on the bed, simply watching Connor with a wondering smile on his face.

"No, dad, you have to do a drawing too!" Connor chastised him. The boy grabbed an empty sheet of paper and a bright turquoise marker and pressed them in Angel's hands. Then he crossed his arms and stood by with a comical pout on his face until Angel acquiesced and lowered himself on the floor to join Connor.

Angel watched for a minute, hiding his amusement, as Connor resumed his drawing. He then placed his own sheet of paper on the floor and started sketching out a picture of Connor. It looked a bit weird with the bright blue color and he definitely felt more comfortable using pencils, but after a few minutes he thought he was starting to get the hang of it.

They drew together for a while in companionable silence. At some point, Connor got bored with drawing and sauntered over to Angel. He watched quietly with an intent expression as Angel finished his drawing of Connor.

Connor pulled at Angel's sleeve. "Dad, is that me?"

Angel looked up at him and smiled. "Yes, it is. Do you like it?"

Connor nodded, eyes still focused on the drawing. Angel gave it to him and Connor stared at it for a while, before carrying it to his toy corner. He smoothed out the paper carefully and laid it down next to some of his favorite toys. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and returned to climb on Angel's lap.

"Can you draw something else too? Like animals or something?"

"Of course," Angel nodded and looked around for an empty sheet of paper. "What about a horse? You like horses, right?"

Connor nodded emphatically, but his eyelids were starting to droop. "Yeah. We watched some videos where these people were riding on horses and they had to wear helmets. It was fun, I want to do that too."

Angel smiled, amused. He picked a brown crayon and started outlining a horse on the paper, which was proving a bit tricky as Connor was leaning more and more heavily against his arm.

"I used to have a horse when I was a kid," Angel said. "It was called Eachann."

Connor laughed at that. "That's a funny name."

"My father named him," Angel said, and then admitted, "He wasn't very good at naming animals."

Connor seemed to think about that. "Are you going to buy me a horse too then?" He looked around the room. "But where would we keep it? And I want to ride it in the nursery too..."

"Oh, I'm sure we'll find a place for it. If we get a horse, we won't stay here. We'll go to someplace nice, like a farm."

Connor turned to look up at him. "Ooh, I saw a farm on TV! There were lots of animals, like cats, and cows, and they had lots of space to run." Connor scowled at the room. "Not like here. I never get to run here."

"Then we'll find a farm, where you can run," Angel said with conviction. "It'll be like a real home, no more secret hideouts." Connor leaned back sleepily in his arms.

"Home. Like here?"

"No, not like here. Better, much better," Angel said. "It'll be like the Hyperion. Remember when I told you about it?"

"Is that where all your friends live?"

"Yes, that's right," he said. "I'll take you there sometime. And then we'll find a farm where you can go anywhere you want, and play with anyone you want. And I can teach you how to ride. It's not that difficult really, but ugh, it's a bit bumpy. You just have to make sure you don't fall, horses are pretty high for someone so short, you know."

Connor laughed. "I'm not short! I'm still a kid!"

Angel smiled at him. "That's a very good point."

"Did you ever fall off a horse? Did it hurt?"

"Yes, it did. Just a bit." Angel hugged Connor tightly with one hand. "But don't worry, I won't let you get hurt. Never."

xixixix

To Angel's surprise, the next day he saw the same nursemaid again.

They had gotten up early that morning, and by midday, Connor was already getting sleepy. They waited by the door when the designated time of separation once again approached far too quickly. Connor stood next to him, clinging on to his hand. He rested his head against Angel's leg, eyes opening and closing drowsily.

Angel watched with dread as the door opened again. Lilah came in, looking haughty in her neat business attire as usual - and after her, the red-headed nursemaid, Julia. She was keeping her head down, not making eye contact with any of them.

Angel would have bet good fortune that Lilah had something to do with that.

"Lilah, to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you again," Angel said. "I thought it'd be lunch time in hell right now, couldn't wait in the queue?"

Lilah smiled tightly at him. "Actually, I just came to check that you weren't behaving out of line here. I know you have a big day ahead tomorrow..." Angel glared at her, which she ignored in her usual manner.

Instead she turned towards the nursemaid and threw her a nasty look. "Also, it came to my knowledge that you were given something you shouldn't have had."

Angel thrust their bag of drawings into Lilah's hands, and was satisfied to see her surprised look.

"Here. I knew you'd find something to bitch about again, so I wrapped it up, all ready for you." He tilted his head, mimicking Lilah's mocking tone. "What? You thought I'd attack you guys with some bad paper cuts?"

"Funny," Lilah said. Then she turned back to the nursemaid. "And you're fired. Have a nice day."

Before Lilah had a chance to make her hasty retreat, Angel grabbed her arm. "She just brought us some papers and pens. You can't fire her for that."

Lilah glared at him and pulled her arm away from his grip. "You're telling _me_ what to do?" She laughed, but there was a strange edge to her voice. "You think you have the power here to order around anyone? Wow. Your capability for self-delusion is amazing, Angel, you should bottle that stuff and make a sales-pitch".

"All I'm saying is -"

"You think I give a damn about what you say? Anyway, I have to go, I have better things to do. Lunch time in hell, as you said," Lilah said and turned on her high-heels.

She was out of the door in a second, leaving Angel and the nursemaid standing in an awkward silence. Connor was nearly asleep already, apparently undisrupted by their argument. He was only held upright anymore by Angel's hand supporting his back.

Angel looked at the nursemaid. "I'm sorry about that," he said quietly. "I know you meant well, and - I appreciate what you did."

"It's Wolfram & Hart. I knew what I was getting into," she said with an equally subdued voice. She extended her hand to Connor. "Come on now, Connor, I should take you back at least."

Angel crouched down next to the boy and hugged him. Connor's head fell forward tiredly and rested against his shoulder.

"Connor, you have to go now," he said, his throat feeling tight again. He hated this part. "You get to have a nap in the nursery soon. But you can't - you can't stay here, okay?"

Connor wrapped his arms around his neck. "But I don't want to go..."

"I'm sorry, Connor, I can't do anything about that. I'm so sorry..." Angel could sense Connor was going to start crying at any moment now. He looked up at the woman desperately.

She scooped up Connor to her arms. "Let's go and have a nap in the nursery, okay? You'll get to see your dad again soon. Say bye bye to him."

Angel smiled sadly at Connor. He never knew what to say when they departed and this time he wasn't even sure if there was anything he could say. Composing himself, he stood up and was about to apologize to the nursemaid again for getting her fired, but froze instead.

The woman saw him staring at her. "Is there something wrong?"

"I just - It just occurred to me... have we met before? I mean, before yesterday?"

The woman shook her head. "No, I don't think so."

Angel frowned. Now that he really took a good look at her, he could swear he'd seen her somewhere before.

But then, as if on cue, Connor started crying. Angel automatically stepped closer to comfort him, but the woman shot Angel an apologetic look, and hurried away. He made a futile move to follow them, but the guards effectively blocked his way.

The door was once again closed and locked, leaving him alone inside.

xixixix

Angel couldn't shake the feeling that there was something he had missed. And that something had to do with that nursemaid, Julia.

Once he got back up to his apartment, a thought occurred to him. He immediately went for The IWC personnel files still spread out all over his kitchen table. He flipped through one of the more recent files, the one that showed the newly recruited members.

And there she was.

He stared at the picture of the red-headed nursemaid.

_Justine Cooper_, the profile read.

He skimmed through the file, reading up on her connection to The IWC and its primary members. A close acquaintance of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce? He hadn't seen any mention of that in Wesley's file.

Other than that, there wasn't anything suspicious in her file. She was just one new face among many; a volunteer recently acquired by The IWC - mostly for her show of prowess in fighting technique and resilience it seemed.

He rubbed his forehead in confusion. What was a small time player of IWC doing working as a nursemaid in Wolfram & Hart? Was she actually an IWC spy posing as a nursery worker - or spying on The IWC on behalf of Wolfram & Hart? Wolfram & Hart had this record on her, so they must have known that at least one of her identities were fake.

He didn't understand what her role was in all of this, but he knew he needed to find out. She had access to Connor, or at least used to. Even if she were no longer employed here, she would still know at least one of the places where they kept Connor - and that was information too valuable to ignore.

He tapped his fingers on the table nervously; he wanted to talk to this woman as soon as possible. But the problem remained that he had very few means to contact her. It was difficult enough to get out of his apartment, not to mention the building. Even during those occasions he was never left unsupervised, unless it was for specific missions - and so far there had been only one of those.

But tomorrow there would be another: the strike against The IWC.

The perfect opportunity to find this Justine Cooper.

He noted down her address, and went to retrieve a glass of blood from the fridge - courtesy of Lilah again. He was still shaken by the separation from Connor, as he usually were, and right now he needed to calm down and rest. He still couldn't bring himself to fully think about the task looming ahead and his willingness to see it through, but this new piece of information had provided him with some much needed distraction.

Because in the midst of all the despair, there was one small ray of hope he couldn't help thinking about. If the nursemaid Julia was really Justine Cooper, a spy for The IWC...

Then maybe he had finally found a way out of this whole mess.

xixixix

It was night time in Los Angeles and Angel felt right at home.

It had been too long, much too long, since the last time he had had the chance to be able to move on his own again. During his tenure at Wolfram & Hart, he had been precious few times to the city without the parasitic lawyers hanging on to his every step, monitoring every move he made.

But this time, they were giving him unprecedented liberties. Just one more test among many they had set for him.

He wanted to walk slow and enjoy the false sense of freedom he had been granted for the night. He even found himself relishing the not-so-fresh air after the stuffy concrete hell he had to spend most of his days in. But he didn't have time for scenic reminiscing - he had to find Justine, before doing whatever it was that he needed to do.

And if for once things went right, maybe he wouldn't have to carry out his mission after all.

He found Justine's address quickly enough. She didn't live that far from Wolfram & Hart, which he supposed would explain her stint as their nursemaid.

She lived in a small rundown apartment in a shabby neighborhood. Not fit for a Wolfram & Hart employee usually, but nursery staff was probably pretty far down the line on luxury benefits. He was pretty certain he hadn't been followed by anyone, but there was always the chance that Justine's apartment was under watch by Wolfram & Hart. It was a risk, but considering his lack of options, right now it was a risk he had to take.

He knocked on the door and she opened it almost immediately.

"Angelus," she said by way of greeting.

He frowned at that. Her whole appearance and manner was considerably different to that of the timid nursemaid he had seen yesterday.

She was leaning casually against the open door, a safe distance away from the doorway itself.

"And what's your name then?" he asked. "Julia? Or Justine Cooper?"

"I'm Justine, and no, you're not invited in."

"You don't even know why I'm here yet."

"I know you're Angelus. A.K.A. a vampire. Therefore, I'm not interested."

"Justine..." he started, then hesitated. Her unexpected demeanor felt unsettling. "I know it must be strange to see me here, but I didn't come here on behalf of Wolfram & Hart. After I saw you yesterday, I checked out your files - your IWC files - and I know you work for them. I just wanted to ask a few questions about that."

"You're wrong. I haven't seen you before," Justine said. "But my sister has."

"Your sister?" He was getting more confused by the minute.

"Yeah, Julia. She works at Wolfram & Hart." Justine looked at him for a long moment, and then sighed. She stepped aside and opened the door wider. "Okay, I'm getting cold hanging out here. Just come in. And don't get any ideas, I know how to use a stake and I've got plenty of them stashed here."

Angel frowned at that, but took the invitation. The apartment was dingy and a moldy odor hung in the air. The interior decoration was possibly even worse than what you would have guessed from the outside.

Justine sat down on the couch, which was more like a brown sack really. Her own attire was equally plain and brownish, matching perfectly with the rest of the apartment. Angel, in his expensive red silk shirt and tailored black suit, probably looked completely out of place - and yet at the same time, he felt more comfortable standing here than he ever had in his Wolfram & Hart apartment.

He walked over to the back wall, where there was an old-fashioned wooden book shelf, slanting slightly on one side. It was littered with photographs; most of the pictures had two identical little girls hugging and smiling, but a few clearer, crisper photos had those girls as older versions of themselves - still hugging and smiling, though. One of them was obviously from a shared graduation day.

"So, you wanna know about IWC then?" Justine started.

"Actually, I want to know about Julia," Angel said, still looking at the pictures. "She's your - twin sister, I assume."

"Yeah. That's Julia. How is she anyway? I haven't seen her for a couple of days."

"She got fired."

Justine's face fell. "Those assholes. I told her it'd be too risky to work there."

Angel returned his attention to Justine, curled up on the couch. "So, your sister works - worked - for Wolfram & Hart, and you work for The IWC... Wanna tell me how that happened?"

Justine smiled. "Perfect double agents. That's how it happened."

Angel raised his eyebrows at her. "So, you're both spies. And who's the employer? Wolfram & Hart, The IWC or whoever pays you the most? Though, I can't see The IWC swaying you over with money."

"You think we'd be that shallow?" Justine snorted. "I wouldn't work for those bastards at Wolfram & Hart even if someone put a gun to my head. No one with a soul could work there." She smirked and gave him an appraising look. "Except, maybe for you..."

"You both work for The IWC then?"

"Yeah. Well, Julia's been working for them longer than I have. She's the one who got me into this business, I'm just a freelance for hire."

"Does that mean Julia's Wolfram & Hart role is just a ruse?" Angel thought about that for a moment. What that implied. "Has she told -"

"About you and Connor? Yeah, she told me," Justine said. "Kinda figured that you've still got your soul, can't see your evil self being big on changing diapers..." She snickered.

Angel gaped at her, wild hope started flickering in his mind.

"And I guess that's why the bosses at The IWC sent Julia there in the first place," Justine continued, looking thoughtful. "Huh. She only got to play babysitter for less than two weeks before Wolfram & Hart fired her, guess it didn't take them long to figure it out."

"But they know now - my friends, they know -"

Overwhelming relief washed over Angel. He slumped his back against the wall and had to close his eyes for a moment. His friends knew. Thank god they knew.

When he opened his eyes again, Justine was watching him with an odd look on her face.

"So, why'd you come to see me then? No, wait, let me guess. You want me to help them get Connor away from Wolfram & Hart."

"Yes, that is one reason I came here. But if Wesley and Cordelia sent Julia to spy on Wolfram & Hart, they must already be working on a plan to help him - " He shook his head, hardly able to believe that there was finally hope for Connor. But that still left another, more imminent problem.

He took a deep shaky breath, and locked eyes with Justine. "The other reason why I'm here tonight is because I need _your_ help with something else."

Justine looked at him, and a slightly manic smile appeared on her face. She leaned back on the sofa and let out a light laugh, which sounded disturbingly similar to Lilah's laugh.

"Man, the great vampire Angelus comes to *me* for help. And here I thought God didn't answer my prayers..."

Angel frowned at that. "I realize you have no reason to help me, but this has to do with your colleagues at The IWC. I believe you're friends with Wesley?"

"Yeah," Justine said, still smiling. "He's a good guy."

"Yes, he is." Angel sighed heavily, before continuing, "Wolfram & Hart has ordered me to take down one of the primary members of The IWC. They want me to kill one of my friends, one of your colleagues - and that is not something either one of us want to happen. If for nothing else, please help me for their sake."

Justine got up from the couch, and suddenly there was a stake in her hand. "Sounds like I'd best help them by taking _you_ down first."

Her reaction was hardly unexpected. Angel studied her taut expression for a moment, before carefully taking a step closer to her. "Justine, if I don't do it, Wolfram & Hart might hurt my son - they might even kill him, I don't know. But I know I would do anything to protect him," he said softly, holding her gaze. He indicated towards the pictures on the book shelf. "You love your sister, right? Wouldn't you do anything to protect her?"

Justine's mouth drew in a tight line. She looked away for a moment, then nodded.

"Would you kill someone for her?"

Justine looked back at him, now with more resolve in her eyes. "Yes."

"Then you know how I feel. Please help me," he said. "All I ask of you is to go to Wesley and tell him and my friends what I told you. If they already know the truth, it should be easy to convince them, and then maybe one of them can disappear for a few days, make it look like I did it. Wesley will think of something, he - he would want to protect Connor."

Justine lowered the stake and looked down. She was still hesitant, but Angel could tell she was considering his words.

"Okay, let's say I _might_ help you... But what makes you think your friends - Wesley - would go through all that trouble - just for you? 'Cause it's not going to be easy to fool Wolfram & Hart, as I'm pretty sure you know."

He didn't know the answer to that - and it hurt. But he couldn't admit that to Justine. Not now.

"I trust Wesley, and I trust my friends," he finally said. "Will you help me?"

Justine looked thoughtful for a moment, before a smile spread on her face. She was clearly relishing the upper hand she had. She started twirling the stake in her fingers absently - but expertly, Angel noted.

"You still haven't told me what _I_ get in return for helping a vampire. Your kind is not exactly high on my list of priorities," Justine said. She looked him up and down, tapping her lips with the stake - and once again reminded him of Lilah. She even had the same mocking smile on her face, but thankfully it faded away quickly. "You gonna get on your knees and beg?"

"No," Angel said. He looked at her steadily. "And I don't have anything to offer you."

"Aside from your literally eternal gratitude, huh?" Justine snorted. Finally, she crossed her arms, and leveled her gaze at him. "Okay, before I decide, just answer me this one question; if I won't help you now, are you actually prepared to go down there and kill one of your friends?"

Angel closed his eyes in pain. He was really hoping she wouldn't ask that - but of course she would. She had every right to. He couldn't trust his voice to answer, but he didn't need to, because then she found an even more painful question to ask.

"So, who were you going to kill?"

He looked at her then, letting the pain in his eyes show. She studied his stricken expression for a moment, and her eyes widened in understanding.

"Please, don't tell him that," Angel said quietly.

"Oh. Yeah, sure," Justine said, she seemed shaken. Her expression was closed off for a moment, before she sank back on the couch - the stake now loose in her hand.

"I guess you love that kid even more than I realized," she said quietly to herself, sounding almost awed.

Angel stared at her. "What?"

Justine looked up at him then, her face set. "Fine, I'll help you. Although, I gotta say - if I were Wesley, I wouldn't." She shook her head in disbelief. "So, you want me to go find him and the other IWC members... What are you going to do then? Sit around and hope for the best?"

He sighed and rubbed his eyes absently, feeling tired already. When he looked up again everything was blurry for a moment. He blinked to clear his eyes and Justine came back to focus.

She was still on the couch, but now clutching the stake tightly, knuckles white from pressure.

He felt uneasy. Her hostility towards him was palpable - although, he couldn't deny that open hostility was pretty much the most common reaction he got when he met people for the first time. But right now, all he had was his blind faith in Wesley's ability to help him, and Justine's questionable promise to deliver the message. He would be foolish to trust her.

He didn't have a choice.

And the relief he felt for not having to go through with his prepared course of action was far too great to ignore. Perhaps, if things went as planned, no one he cared about - neither Connor nor his friends - should have to get hurt tonight.

"I'll - I'll make a distraction, a back-up plan," he finally said. "Something to make Wolfram & Hart and The IWC at least _think_ I'm planning to kill one of them. Wolfram & Hart told me they want Angelus to make a demonstration..." Angel smiled grimly. "And if it's a show they want, I'll give them one."

xixixix

Angel stood in front of the Hyperion entrance, waiting.

He hadn't been to this place for almost four years now and he still had mixed feelings about it. Anything that reminded him of the time before his imprisonment at Wolfram & Hart felt painful and unsettling to him.

But it looked like this place hadn't changed much. The garden looked nicer, the doors more polished - it looked more lived in than ever during his residence.

The business was booming, he supposed. He wondered why they hadn't moved out.

But then he could hear their voices, coming closer. They were all in the lobby now, soon in the front yard and then they would see him.

He took a deep breath in mental preparation. He couldn't show any signs of weakness, since Wolfram & Hart would most certainly be watching him here. At his old home.

Time to get the show started.

The front doors opened and they came out, preparing for their nightly missions it seemed.

He could see all his friends there - aside from Fred, he noted with great relief. At least one of his friends wouldn't have to witness this farce he was forced to play out. He didn't know how much they knew about his and Connor's situation, or even which of them knew, so for the sake of Wolfram & Hart and the rest of The IWC at least, he had to assume to keep up his pretense as usual.

There were also some new recruits that he only recognized from pictures he had seen in the personnel files. But he barely paid any attention to them, his eyes inevitably drawn to Cordelia, Wesley and Gunn.

They were still talking amongst themselves and hadn't seen him from the darkness of the street. They were being careless, he thought, they wouldn't see him until it was too late. He kept his hands casually in his coat pockets - one hand clutched around a gun, holding it out of sight.

Gunn was the first one to yell out a warning and pointed a crossbow at him. Good for Gunn, at least his instincts still worked. He waited until all of them had turned to face him - first in alarm and then raising their weapons in grim determination.

Cordelia and Wesley looked shocked and confused, but both were steadily aiming a crossbow at him.

"Hi guys," Angel said.

No one replied. Yet another weapon was aimed at him.

"What do you want?" Wesley asked.

"Nothing really, I was just passing by."

No one budged, no one let their weapons lower an inch.

Angel took a step closer to them. "Well, actually there was this one thing..."

Gunn looked at the others. "Should we shoot him now or after he starts with the evil villain monologue? Because I vote now."

Angel smiled at Gunn. "Oh, don't worry, no monologues. I just wanted to ask your opinion on something."

"What's that then?" Cordelia asked. Her face was drawn in tight lines and she was gripping her weapon with a steely hold. She looked older and fuller to Angel - like a leafy tree grown to its full splendor. The difference to the picture lying on his kitchen table was striking.

"I'm supposed to kill one of you -" He tilted his head and made a play at looking troubled. "But I can't decide which one. I could really use your opinion on this, I mean, it's only fair that I give you guys the opportunity to make the lucky pick. Here's your chance to get rid of that asshole who's always pissed you off."

"Angel, I don't know what it is that you're playing at here -" Wesley said.

"Oh, I'm not playing at anything. I get paid for this stuff, and you know how it goes, gotta keep your employers happy." He smirked at Wesley. "You should know, you've got quite a few people going on their knees for you nowadays, don't ya Wes. Do they keep you happy?"

Wesley's mouth tightened.

Angel sighed theatrically. "No one has any ideas then? Fine, might as well go and ask Fred. She's the more imaginative sort. Wonder where she is anyway..." He smiled. "I hope nothing's happened to her."

Gunn stepped closer. "If you fucker did anything to her..."

"Don't shoot, I'm clean as a whistle." Angel raised his hands from his pockets in mock innocence. Their eyes were immediately drawn to the gun in his hand. "Oh yeah, there's an idea." He casually pointed the gun at them. "I could just start shooting at random. See who catches the bullet first."

They all looked taken aback at that - vampires with guns always did seem to take people off-guard. But their holds on the crossbows didn't budge.

Angel smirked and tilted his head quizzically. "You know, last I checked, bullets were still faster than arrows. You wanna test that?"

He saw Gunn's finger twitch on the crossbow trigger. He didn't want to start shooting at them, even if deliberately missing his targets, but he would if it came to that.

Then suddenly Cordelia stepped forward and held up her hand, effectively drawing everyone's attention to her.

"Wait!"

Angel tried to keep his expression casual, when he turned to point the gun straight at Cordelia.

She took a step closer to Angel. He tightened his grip on the gun.

"Angel, or Angelus, I don't even know who you are anymore... But I just need to know one thing." Cordelia took one more step closer. She sounded desperate, and her eyes were large and sad. "Why? Was it because of him? Because of what happened to him? Is that why you're doing all of this?"

Angel frowned at her. She didn't know.

If Justine had been telling the truth, how could she not know? Was she just pretending, was this an act too?

He couldn't take any chances now.

Before Cordelia could continue, he took careful aim and pulled the trigger.

He was an excellent shot. He could see well in the dark. He had checked that it would take five minutes at most to reach the nearest hospital by ambulance and all the members of The IWC carried cell phones with them at all times.

Cordelia was right-handed.

He shot her in the left shoulder. She was bound to make it. She had to.

With a terrible flare of guilt he saw a shocked look form on her face as she fell backwards and Gunn dove in to catch her. But he didn't dwell on her reaction, because at that moment they were all taken off-guard by the shot and Angel used that to his advantage.

He ran.

He ran to a nearby alleyway that he had been to many times before, but then he heard the echoing footsteps behind him and realized he had been followed. He spun around and saw Wesley silhouetted against the light coming from the alley entrance.

"Angel! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Wesley yelled at him and raised the crossbow he was holding. But before Wesley had a chance to do anything else, Angel had knocked the crossbow out of his hand and flipped him around in a tight head lock, his arm around Wesley's throat.

He knew it was risky, but he just couldn't resist. After four years of terrible lies, this was his one chance of explaining himself to Wesley. And maybe Wolfram & Hart would never know...

Wesley struggled against his tight hold, tearing at his arm with his hands.

"You son of a bitch, let me go -"

"Wesley, please listen," he whispered in Wesley's ear.

Wesley went still under his arm. Encouraged by his reaction, Angel continued, "Help me, please, help me... They - they have Connor," he said, desperation shaking his voice. "Wait for Justine, she'll tell you everything..."

But then he could hear shouting from the street behind them and running footsteps getting closer.

Angel released Wesley from his hold. He watched as Wesley stumbled to his feet and turned around to look at Angel with an incredulous look on his face.

"What?" Wesley said hoarsely. He held a hand to his throat and sounded pained. "Angel, that's impossible -"

Angel saw the others approaching from the mouth of the alleyway and he started backing away to the shadows.

"Angel!" Wesley yelled.

He took one last look at Wesley and ran back to the darkness. He could hear the echoes of Wesley calling his name all the way back to Wolfram & Hart.

* * *

xixixix

_3. The Return Home_

xixixix

When Angel returned to his room, there was no glass of blood waiting for him.

His whole fridge was empty.

He frowned at that, but he was much too tired to care. He felt worn to the core, and when he collapsed on the bed he slept until the next sunset uninterrupted.

Once he had woken up, still feeling tired, he changed his clothes and dressed up in yet another tailored dark suit. He didn't have much choice in clothing. Everything in his apartment was needlessly extravagant and expensive.

He went to the fridge, but it was still empty.

Feeling restless, he started pacing the floor.

He had been sleeping for at least a day now and no one had tried to make any contact with him.

Usually, after a successful mission, Holland would come in shortly thereafter to congratulate him. He didn't know why Holland did that, but it was the norm, and this wasn't. Maybe he had failed after all. Maybe all of this had been for nothing. He had wounded Cordelia, but that probably didn't count as a successful mission for Wolfram & Hart, unless...

No, she couldn't be. He didn't even allow himself to consider that possibility.

No, it was more likely that Justine, for whatever reason, had never gotten to Wesley. Perhaps he should never have gone to meet her in the first place. Or maybe it was that Wesley couldn't - or wouldn't - have done anything to help him. And then there was that remote possibility that everything had went well after all, Wesley had staged someone's death and was working on a way to get Connor out.

But there were just too many eventualities and, once again, Angel had no idea what was happening outside his prison of an apartment.

He collapsed to sit next to the dressing table and stared at the large mirror. Compared to Justine's rundown house, his apartment shone white and clean like a museum exhibition. Smooth, polished surfaces gleamed off the walls and the furniture, and everything was designed and stylized to a pristine perfection. Angel's own taste for the finer things was well-known, but this was different. This was all Wolfram & Hart's idea of a prison - to placate with hollow beauty and drown you in meaningless wealth.

Because, whereas Justine's shelves were filled with her life, past and present, Angel's were empty. There was not a single picture of Connor he was allowed to keep here.

It was all so empty.

Angel leaned tiredly against the dressing table and had nearly nodded off, when he heard the door open. With a tight, dreadful feeling, he watched from the mirror as Holland made his way to him. Holland wasn't smiling this time.

Holland pulled up a chair next to him and sat down.

Angel reluctantly turned to face him.

Holland inspected Angel's weary expression for a while. Then his face broke into a wide, satisfied grin.

"Amazing. Simply amazing." Holland shook his head incredulously. "I have to be honest, I really didn't think you'd go that far, but well - this time I'm glad to be proven wrong."

Angel started to frown at him, but then checked himself. Surely Holland couldn't mean just shooting Cordelia? Unless she really had... No, that just wasn't possible. But if Justine had kept her word and gone to Wesley, then they must have staged something. Whatever it was that had happened, Angel should take the credit for it.

He looked at Holland. "What happens now?"

"Why, you'll get your reward, of course." Holland got up from the chair and offered Angel his hand. "Let's go get your son. He's already waiting for you."

Angel stared at his offered hand for a few frozen moments, before he let the long-awaited hope fill him. He took Holland's hand and got up, nearly shaking in relief.

It had worked. Their plan had worked, he would get to live with Connor. And then they were bound to find a way out. With the help of Julia and Wesley or without.

And when he followed Holland to the meeting quarters for the last time, that wild, fearful hope kept growing brighter and brighter.

xixixix

Holland opened the door to their familiar meeting room - the secret prison he and Connor had shared for the past four years, but no more - and indicated for Angel to enter first.

"Please, after you."

Angel entered the room and Connor immediately bounced off from the bed to greet him. He seemed to have been there for a while, Angel could tell there was fresh food in the kitchen.

"Dad!"

Connor ran to him and Angel picked the boy up in his arms. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt as relieved as he did now - Connor was safe. No matter what else had happened, at least Connor was safe. The stress of the previous day was starting to fade away, now that he could just concentrate on the warm feeling of holding Connor close to him.

"Connor, I missed you so much," Angel said and kissed him on top of his head.

Connor giggled, his eyes were wide with excitement. "Dad, Julia told me I get to go home today!"

Angel blinked. "Julia?" He turned around to look at Holland.

Upon seeing Angel's confused expression, Holland smiled. "Oh, yes. I took the liberty to hire her back. I believe Lilah made a hasty mistake in firing her. Julia has proven to be a very good employee indeed."

Angel frowned at that, but didn't have time to further think about it when Connor threw his arms around his neck. "Can I come upstairs with you now?"

Angel smiled at him brightly. "Yes, that's right, we can go home together."

"Home? Is that the farm with lots of animals?"

Acutely aware of Holland observing them by the door, Angel lowered his voice. "No, but soon we'll go there too," he whispered. He couldn't help being affected by Connor's heartfelt enthusiasm. It had been much too long since something - anything - positive had happened to them.

From the corner of his eye, Angel saw Holland still looking at them with an oddly quiet air, his placid mask as unreadable as ever.

But Connor was laughing again now and Angel refused to let Holland's presence bring down their good mood.

"Have you gotten your toys with you yet?" Angel asked Connor. The boy shook his head and Angel let him down. As Connor went to retrieve his favourite toys from the toy box, Angel sat down on the bed and just watched him with an affectionate smile - not able to take his eyes off of Connor for a single moment.

He was surprised to see that a minute or so later, Holland sat down next to him on the bed.

"He really is a wonderful boy, isn't he?" Holland said, looking at Connor, smiling. "And he looks just like you. Dark hair, dark eyes... Although, as I recall - Connor had blue eyes, didn't he? Babies do tend to have those. I suppose his eyes might have gotten darker by now as well, were he still alive."

Angel's smile faded and he turned to look at Holland. "What?"

Holland chuckled. "Oh yes, I have to admit that I thought this would be a problem. I told Lilah that surely Angel would notice such a significant difference. But I seemed to have greatly underestimated your capability for self-delusion. That, and Lilah's blood magic, of course. She did always come up with great uses for Connor's blood." Holland shook his head and gave Angel a disapproving look. "You gave her quite a lot of grief with your refusal to drink the blood she was always preparing for you - apparently it was rather a painstaking process."

Angel stared at him, frozen in shock. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Illusion spells."

Holland held Angel's gaze for a long, silent moment; his eyes sharper than ever.

Finally Angel tore his eyes away from Holland and turned to stare at Connor. Some quiet, slumbering horror inside of him started eating its way out. Next to him, Holland leaned closer.

"Are you telling me that all these years, you never knew what was wrong? Not even once?" Holland continued in a smooth voice. When Angel failed to respond, a delighted smile spread on Holland's face. "Well, that's quite extraordinary."

At that, something in him snapped and he stood up. This was ridiculous, all of it, and he was getting so fucking tired of Holland's mind games - of Wolfram & Hart and everything in it.

"You're so full of shit, Holland," he spat out.

He walked over to Connor, who was still choosing toys from the box and had already managed to litter half the floor with the discarded ones he kept throwing out. Connor looked up at him, and without a word Angel picked the boy up in his arms. Connor cried out in protest and tried to reach for his beloved toys left on the floor. But Angel ignored that and instead cradled Connor tightly to his chest, never wanting to let go.

He turned back to see Holland still smiling at him.

"You're one to talk," Holland said calmly. "You can't even seem to recognize your own son."

"Shut up," he growled. "What kind of sick game are you playing now?"

Holland tilted his head quizzically.

"Ask yourself, who is it that you're holding there, Angel? Poor baby Connor, an unnatural child born to two vampires? Or a completely ordinary human child?"

Angel tried to ignore him, but he couldn't help looking down at Connor. The boy fidgeted nervously in his tight hold and was starting to look upset. Connor then looked up at Angel and met his eyes with all the naivety of a child.

Angel blinked, and broke the eye contact. Some deep, hidden pressure in his head started to increase.

"Haven't you ever wondered why he smells so - human?"

Connor's smell. That clean, pure smell. He had always relished that, but sensing it now was suddenly very similar to being hit in the face with a sledgehammer - except a million times more painful.

"It wasn't our idea, granted. We at Wolfram & Hart thought making you kill your own son would be enough to break you. The prophecy was fulfilled already, despite your friend's valiant efforts to save you both. But then this man came -"

Holland stood up from the bed then, and neatly crossed his hands in front of him. He was elegant as always, an elegant devil disguised as a business man. A Senior Partner at Wolfram & Hart.

"Well, he was something else entirely," Holland continued with a note of genuine awe in his voice. "I don't think I've ever met an individual harboring such pure hatred, as this man did for you. My god, it wasn't even enough for him that you had already killed your own son - can you imagine that?" Holland shook his head in amazement. "Naturally, the Senior Partners were quite impressed with him, and as his plan also seemed to benefit Wolfram & Hart - well, we decided to humor him. And it seems like his carefully laid out revenge paid off."

Holland walked closer to Angel.

He stepped back and pressed Connor against his chest protectively. His mind was completely numb with shock, he barely even registered Connor's increasingly frantic squirming anymore.

"You should feel flattered, Angel. Whatever it was that you did to this man must have been the work of a truly sadistic genius. What else could inspire such hatred that he would go through all the trouble to device all this, just for you." Holland made a sweeping gesture encompassing Connor and the room at large. Then he took yet another step closer to Angel. "I have to admit, Lilah and I were quite skeptical at first. How could you possibly go along with this ploy? But it seems this man knew you better than we ever did."

Holland stopped his approach, just an arm's reach away, and gave his brightest smile yet.

"Making you love a human son as your own, someone who wasn't yours to love in the first place... well, in the end it was - if you pardon the expression - like child's play, really."

Angel stepped around Holland, walking far away from him - as far as he could get anyway.

"You're lying. You're nothing but full of lies, Holland, you always were. This whole place is."

He was aware that he was now holding the boy much too tightly for comfort, Connor kept complaining and wriggling to get out of his hold. But he couldn't stop the sensation that if he let go even for one second, he would lose Connor. Permanently.

"The only one here clinging to a lie is you, Angel," Holland said, looking pointedly at Connor.

"You're not going to take him away from me again."

Holland sighed. "I can see I'm not getting through to you here." He walked to the door and pressed the intercom button. "Lilah, you can bring them in now."

He turned to look at Angel. "Try not to cause a scene, please. You wouldn't want to upset the child, would you?"

Angel clutched Connor to his chest convulsively, even though the familiar smell of his body was starting to seem so wrong. So human. So very very wrong. Connor was looking up at him, confused, but when Angel's arms began to tremble, so did Connor. The child instinctively sensed his growing dismay and started sobbing in his arms.

Then, the door opened and Lilah walked in, flanked by two humans. A man and a woman. A couple.

Parents.

"Ah, yes, there you are." Holland walked over to them and greeted them exuberantly. "The time has come for your long-awaited reunion. I can't tell you how pleased I'm to announce that after all these years, your search is finally over."

Angel stared at them in dawning horror.

The couple looked over at him - and straight at Connor in his arms. The teary woman covered her mouth with a shaking hand. "Is that - is that Stephen? Oh god, is that our son?"

"Yes, he is," Lilah said pleasantly. She looked over at Angel. "You can hand over Stephen to them now."

Angel started backing away from them, until his legs hit the edge of the bed.

"No, this isn't real... This isn't possible.."

Holland smiled reassuringly at the shocked couple. "Please, pay him no mind. We'll deal with him accordingly after this."

Lilah walked over to Angel and held out her hands. Connor's sobbing turned into desperate cries, echoing loudly in the room. "You're hurting him, Angel. Let him go."

"No, please don't..."

Right now the only thing he could concentrate on was Connor's body shaking in his arms. Angel looked down at him, but the minute he let his gaze fall away from Lilah, she stepped in and took hold of Connor. Connor cried out in pain as Lilah pulled his arms and Angel let go automatically upon hearing that.

In a second, Lilah had cradled the crying boy tightly in her arms. Angel couldn't stop staring at Connor. The emptiness in his own arms felt almost tangible. Cold and stinging.

His vision started to blur, his head pounded.

Lilah walked over to the couple and the woman eagerly took the boy to her arms. Angel watched on as the couple hugged his bewildered son between them. Connor's crying kept growing louder and louder.

Lilah returned to Holland's side and he smiled at her. "Isn't it precious? A family finally reunited."

"Brings tears to my eyes," Lilah replied smoothly.

"Go on," Holland encouraged the emotional couple. "Isn't it time you took your son back home, where he belongs?"

Angel couldn't understand any of it; he felt disoriented, unfocused and the scene unfolding in front of him was starting to look increasingly blurry. All he could do was stare at the strangers clutching his son in their arms.

They were starting to leave, taking Connor with them, and Angel stepped forward. He was blinking his eyes furiously, trying to clear his vision enough to see his son one last time before he was taken from him again.

"Dad!" he heard Connor call between his cries, but the boy was quickly shushed by the couple as they hurried away. Angel tried to answer to Connor, but his voice wasn't working properly anymore.

After the couple had left, Holland looked at him, fake pity plastered on his face.

"I'm sorry to inform you that your contract with Wolfram & Hart has now been terminated," Holland said. "It's been a pleasure working with you, Angel."

Holland turned to leave, but as he opened the door, he turned back to Angel one more time.

"Oh, and we feel it would be safer for you if you stayed here for the time being," he said. "I hear The IWC is on quite a war path against you now. First you shoot Miss Chase and then you kill poor young Winifred by draining her blood?" He tutted and shook his head. "If I were you, I wouldn't want to come across them any time soon."

He took one last satisfied look at Angel, and left.

Angel looked at Lilah - there was one shard of information, one thing that Holland had said, that still echoed clearly in his otherwise chaotic mind.

"Fred... Fred's dead?"

"As dead as she can get. Your friend Justine is quite handy with an ice pick," Lilah said. She seemed to ponder something for a moment. "But I guess she should know what a vampire bite looks like - considering what happened to her sister and all."

Lilah tilted her head and grinned. "Funny how these things tend to come around to bite you in the ass, huh? Actually, that reminds me..." She smiled sweetly at him. "Daniel Holtz says hello. Go on, say hi to him!"

She looked up at the ceiling and Angel followed her gaze - to that surveillance camera he had located a long time ago.

Lilah waved cheerily at the camera, and shot an amused smile at his shocked face.

"Guess you've got this place all to yourself now," she said. "Well, it was fun. See you around." With that she turned around and left the room.

The locks slid into place. Then all was quiet. Even the guards had left from behind the door.

Angel was left alone.

He collapsed on the floor, every ounce of his preternatural strength drained from his body, and slumped against the bed, which was the only thing still keeping him upright.

He was surrounded by the colorful toys that his son had picked up from the toy box, and had haphazardly strewn across the floor. There was carrot pie and freshly squeezed juice in the kitchen, he could tell, and lavender soap with fresh towels in the bathroom. And lingering over all of it was his son's - not Connor's - scent.

He didn't feel anything.

There was an absence of emotion inside him and it grew stronger and larger, all encompassing. His head felt like a hollow shell and he couldn't remember a single memory horrifying or painful enough to rival that emptiness.

Pain had always been too trivial anyway.

* * *

xixixix

_Epilogue_

xixixix

Wesley opens the door quietly - but not quietly enough for Angel it seems.

Angel stirs on the bed and looks up at him with bleary eyes.

"Wesley?"

Wesley fumbles for the table lamp cord and clicks it on. The lamp fills one corner with soft, ambient light - giving a sleepy, peaceful glow over the whole room.

"Good evening, Angel. Did you sleep well?"

Angel looks around for a moment, disoriented, and then finally sits up. "I - I think I heard children's voices, running and laughing. And - and they were here."

Wesley doesn't say anything for a long, tense moment. Angel looks up at him. "I'm not insane, Wesley," he says quietly.

Wesley sighs, and walks over to him. "I know," he finally says. He sits on the bed next to Angel. "Well, I know now. But we thought you were, for a long time - and so did you for that matter."

Angel nods at that, and plays absently with the loose strings unraveling from the bed cover. "But then he learned to write," he says, and a soft, affectionate smile rises on his features.

"Well, it took a bit longer than that," Wesley says, and then adds sadly, "Perhaps a bit _too_ long."

Angel just shakes his head. "No matter, he came through in the end." He looks up at the book shelf on the opposing wall. "He remembered me."

Wesley smiles and follows his gaze.

Angel's book shelf is full of keepsakes; photos, drawings and postcards, some old and some new, but all of them things he has gathered for himself over the years. As usual, Wesley's eyes are inevitably drawn to the faded picture of Fred in the middle of the top shelf - Wesley doesn't quite remember, but he thinks he might have been the one who took that photo of her. She looks young, proud and smart. Wesley tries to remember her with fondness, but every time there is that flare of bitter anger; such a smart woman as Fred used merely as a pawn in Holtz and Justine's sick game of revenge... it was a travesty. All of it was.

There are photos of others as well, some lost along the way and some still living, but the most prominent items on the shelf, however, are the postcards.

"That reminds me..." Wesley says. He goes through his pocket and picks up another postcard from there. "This just arrived in the mail today."

Wesley turns the card around, inspecting it. It's a simple postcard, as they usually are, with a glossy picture of a green sunlit meadow. Probably from somewhere in New England, Wesley supposes. The hand-written note on the card goes on to talk about a farm and a holiday spent riding horses.

The card is signed _Stephen_.

And below his name, there is a post script: _I miss you, dad_. Stephen doesn't always sign off the cards with that, but when he does, Wesley feels cold shivers going down his back. As if the dead were calling to him.

However, those are Angel's favourite cards.

They haven't really talked about Connor - the real one - for a long long while. Not since they got Angel away from Wolfram & Hart, after much debate and much too late, and discovered the awful truth of it all. But Connor is always there, under the surface. And always will be.

But for now, they just have to concentrate on the living.

Wesley hands over the card to Angel, who accepts it with careful reverence. "Thank you, Wesley."

"There is still no sender's address," Wesley says hesitantly.

"I know. Maybe someday."

Wesley feels disquieted, but he doesn't want to break that fragile hope Angel still clings onto.

"Yes, maybe someday."

Angel has quite a collection of these postcards now.

The cards never have any indication of a location, aside from the postal stamp, and it seems obvious that the sender doesn't want to be found - not yet, anyway.

At first, Wesley had been completely baffled by the cards. He didn't know who this Stephen was, except that he kept sending postcards to their old address at the Hyperion. But then the truth slowly came out, and it was those postcards that made the final piece of the puzzle fall into place. The Hyperion itself has been long-since demolished, but before they moved out, Wesley made certain that they would forward all mail to his new address.

They had learned the truth, but in the end it felt like it was too little too late. Too late for Fred, too late to bring the real culprits to justice and too late to let past deeds be fully forgiven. But perhaps it wasn't too late for the small child who had been used as little more than a tool for revenge, the child who had then grown up to have a chance at a peaceful life.

The boy who had told them the truth.

They had learned why in the most painful way possible. (Cordelia certainly reminds Angel often enough of exactly how painful it had been.) But the truth is still better than living a lie. That was a hard lesson for Angel to learn, and he still sometimes seems to forget all too easily what had really happened to Connor - his real son. But Wesley can never forget.

He had buried the body himself.

Angel suddenly lifts up his head.

"I can hear them again."

Wesley sighs, he thought they had been through with this already. "Angel..."

But then Wesley hears them too.

Angel smiles at him. "Cordelia's children really _are_ noisy."

Wesley laughs, profoundly relieved. "Yes, I believe I've noticed that once or twice."

Angel gets up from the bed and sets the new postcard on his beloved book shelf, next to a bright blue drawing of a small child. Wesley gets up too, although he wobbles a bit and Angel comes over to support him. His left leg has been bothering him for a while now, arthritis most probably.

They walk slowly downstairs, seeing as Wesley has to lean heavily on the railing while descending the staircase. He can now hear the impromptu visitors. The adults are in the kitchen, unloading groceries - sounds like they are planning on preparing a dinner - and then he hears the children playing in the backyard with no small amount of ruckus. Cordelia's children really have taken after their mother; by age five her youngest daughter had already engaged Wesley in lengthy, though slightly nonsensical, debates. Wesley has teased Cordelia about that more than once, and he usually gets either a proud laugh or a murderous look in return.

But Angel is smiling at the sound of their playing, and Wesley is glad for that, if nothing else.

Perhaps Wesley couldn't have saved the son - but in the end, he saved the father.

After all, Angel did ask for his help.

xixixix

THE END


	2. Additional notes

**Thank you…**

To **Amy** (who left a review on this story): I couldn't think of another way to reply to you, seeing as you don't have an account on this site. I just wanted to say thank you for your lovely feedback, it cheered me up and made me feel like I didn't waste my time writing this story. :)

* * *

******Author's note:**

This story and further story notes can also be read on my LJ (see the address on my profile page).

xixixix

"_Little boy get away while you can... This is our secret hideout... The Children's Prison"_

Phrases taken from this nonsensical video clip called The Children's Prison (just check youtube). This is final proof that I can find inspiration from the most random of places. (The music is a remix of Poppy Seed (Reprise) by Boards of Canada.)

This story and its title wouldn't exist without that strange, psychedelic Boards of Canada track, so I should give credit for where credit is due. I love that 1 minute 17 second clip of music more than humanly possible, and I listened to it on a loop while writing this. I'm really beginning to think my obsession with Boards of Canada has crossed over the boards of relative normalcy to something clinically diagnosable.

I also love Lilah. She is so - delightful. Like a glass of tangy grape juice.

That said, I feel kind of bad for writing this, but the story just wouldn't leave me alone otherwise.

I blame it all on whatever's my childhood trauma.

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EXTRA SCENE

**How the name "The IWC" came to be:**

"Wesley, you suck at naming things."

Wesley pouted at Cordelia. "What's wrong with The Improved Watcher's Council?"

"It sucks, for one."

"No, no, I get it," Gunn said. "You want to rub it in their faces. Show them this is how things get done, am I right?"

"Yes, that's exactly it," Wesley beamed. "I'm glad you got the gist of it so quickly."

"I still think the gist sucks," Cordelia said.

"Hey, who's the boss here?"

"And now he sounds like Angel," she muttered.

"Now, that just sucks," Gunn said.

Much later...

"All right, how about an acronym?"

(The middle W is pronounced like V, for the record. Because of reasons.)**  
**


End file.
